


Only For A Moment Chapter 2

by The_Word_Witch



Series: Only For A Moment [2]
Category: Bucky - Fandom, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: Bucky - Freeform, Bucky Barnes - Freeform, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Civil War (Marvel), F/M, Hurt Bucky Barnes, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Protective Bucky Barnes, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-10
Updated: 2018-10-10
Packaged: 2019-07-29 03:51:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16256105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Word_Witch/pseuds/The_Word_Witch
Summary: For most of your life you’d been able to keep your abilities a secret, that is until Hydra got wind of you. After years of being in their clutches, you break out when The Avengers expose SHIELD/Hydra. Since then, you’ve been on the run. Things are going as well as you could hope when you see a familiar face… Could the Winter Soldier really be in Bucharest too?





	Only For A Moment Chapter 2

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: PTSD, thievery, death (implied).

You want nothing more than to disappear into your scarf, just fall into your shell like a turtle. But you know you have to keep your head up, look normal, be vigilant. The museum rises up in front of you, it’s stunning facade somehow comforting. Beautiful buildings always inspired Y/N. But she was gone. _‘We can have similar interests,’_ you think pushing away the ghost of your former self.

It’s Friday and the museum has just opened but there are enough people to make you feel at ease with your plan. Some tourists and two groups of rowdy school kids. _‘Perfect.’_ You slide near a gathering of fourteen tourists who, from the sound of it, are Danish.

The cheery museum worker hands you a headset without a second thought, smiling brightly, and, gives you an appreciative once-over. _‘Girl must have a thing for vagabond-chic.’_ She seems young and you hope she’s got a good friend to help her polish her taste in men.

You follow the group a few paces behind, observe where the men’s wallets are, what women have purses without zippers and plan your strategy. Bucharest is done, but you need funds to get out and tourists always have cash and in places like museums, a false sense of security.

As you pass the incredible skeletons your mind wanders to the Soldier. You’d caught wind that he’d vanished after the incident. Given his rap sheet, you have no doubt he has more than Hydra on his ass if that’s the case. But he was their star, the crown jewel of their murderous menagerie, you can’t imagine why he’d go rogue. Though there was that time-

A young woman slips on the tile and careens into you bringing you back to the task at hand. “Undskyld! Undskyld! (Sorry! Sorry!)”

“It’s ok,” you respond in Danish brandishing a smile. Knowing almost every language in modern usage may be the one good thing to come out of this nightmare.

“Oh,” she smiles awkwardly as you hand her tote back. You knew she’d assumed you were a man, that responding in a distinctly feminine voice would throw her even more than her slip. You also know that this is all the distraction you need to pull her wallet up, out, and under your jacket. Weaponizing gender norms, Nix would be proud. “Thank you!” Without a second thought, she strolls back to her friends, not wanting to linger.

You continue the museum tour for a bit without lifting anything else, not wanting to push it. The woman running into you was, despite your previous thoughts on the subject, lucky. Biding your time is best. 

In the marine life exhibit the hall is narrow and dim, everything awash in blue light. You’re bummed to be leaving this city, this museum alone with it’s winding corridors is a gold mine.

One of the Danish men pulls his phone out of his pocket, his money clip peeks up for just a moment and wouldn’t you know it just falls out and silently into your hand. A British man who’s group was already in the hall lost his wallet, shit luck that. Spoils in tow it’s easy enough to slip away unnoticed and duck into the men’s restroom.

A decent enough haul, about $300 Romanian Leu and $250 Euro. You’d certainly done worse. The money clip also seems to be gold so you hold onto it. The Brits wallet you let fall to the bathroom floor and as you casually stroll back past the mastodon on your way out you let the woman’s wallet float silently near where you’d collided. You may be a thief but you know getting around a foreign country without your ID is difficult and don’t want to cause them anymore issues. You’ll take any good karma you can eek out.

The thought of leaving the museum makes your mouth go dry. Romania seemed unassuming enough. After Berlin, you thought the typical European locals were too risky but you needed to be in a city where a stranger could go unnoticed. Was there really no place safe from Hydra… was running worth it?

Steeling yourself you step into the crisp day. Kiseleff Park is right by the museum and it seems as good a choice as any. You go far enough away as to not be seen by the tourists when they exit but not so far as to be away from public view and lounge on a bench. If they wanted you dead they could probably hit you here but if they want to take you in, this is too public. It wouldn’t be impossible of course but given the bind Hydra’s in it would certainly be too inconvenient.

You let your sixth sense slither down the legs of the bench. The screws securing it to the concrete are rusty but you’re pretty certain you can weaponize it if necessary. Down the bench, to the sidewalk, you feel out the cracks in the concrete surrounding you, easy enough to break it up and hurl it. The trash can to your back left is metal, the posts that make up the barrel can be pulled apart and used as projectiles. Even the lamppost about six feet away would be useful in a pinch.

 _‘What a good attack dog you will be,’_ that voice slithers from the recesses of this morning’s dream. They were so impressed at your ability to think on your feet, to get out of a bind even if _they_ were the bind…

You stop yourself. Don’t want to give him power in your waking hours, he has enough of that when your body demands sleep like the traitor it is. You fish your shattered phone from your pocket and give the surrounding area one last look over before trying to plot your next course.

The money from today would be more than enough to get you to the coastal city of Constanta, but from there you’d be partially surrounded by water. While living the rest of your days on a boat sounds kind of perfect you aren’t exactly a sea fairing woman and considering that the Black Sea is bordered by some pretty unstable regions, it’s best to not. You’ve got about $700 Leu between today and what’s in your squat, that may be enough to get a shitty car, or you could steal one. Maybe drive to Croatia.

The thought sends a pain shooting through your chest. The last Friendsgiving you had with them you’d convinced everyone that Croatia belonged on your group travel list, showing them photos you’d pinned and talking about how enchanting it looked when Anthony Bourdain went. You’d even priced hotels and flights just to show how y’all could make it work.

A single tear catches between your sunglasses and cheekbone and you quickly brush it away before you map the distance. Fourteen hours. You could do that without stopping. Ditch the car on some back road and walk to the city of your choice. You swallow the sob bubbling up your throat. There’s no point in tears now. You’re going on for them. They are gone because of you. It would be selfish to throw away the life you have, no matter how shitty it is when they don’t get to live theirs anymore. You can weep for them in the ocean they never got to see but not here on this fucking bench.

You slump over, take one ragged breath, then another. Dig your fingers into your thighs. Try to ground yourself in your body. And look up.

He’s across the street. Openly staring at you with no cover whatsoever. _‘Pretty shitty for an assassin,’_ you think and you’re once again hit with the feeling of difference about him. He seems almost wilted. That doesn’t matter. Hydra will do anything to get at you. What better than to position someone like him here to get close, make you think you’re on the same struggle. An excellent way to break you down.

Suddenly you’re ready. If they want to play you’ll play. You take your glasses off and hook them on the neck of your shirt. Slowly you lift your face and meet those eyes. Unblinking you stand and walk away. You know he’ll follow.


End file.
